


Berserker

by Arukou



Series: Tumblr Archive the Second [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Broken Bones, Canon-Typical Violence, Chemical Weapons, Gen, Injury, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 13:22:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14916158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou
Summary: There's gas in Steve's face, and Nat feels like she's only there to watch.





	Berserker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/gifts).



> Written as a belated prompt answer and birthday gift for [MusicalLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna). She asked for a scenario in which Steve had been dosed with some sort of drug that induced a panic attack.

Nat is ten yards away when she sees six AIM agents swarm Steve at once and latch onto him as best they can. She knows better than most that holding Steve down is not an easy thing to do, but six men putting in their all at once is enough to slow him down, enough to give the last agent the opportunity to get in his face. Nat sees it happening, but she’s too far away, and she’s got her own two goons between her and Steve. She vaults and spins and hears a spine snap, but by the time she’s recovered from her landing, it’s too late. There’s gas in Steve’s mouth and nose and eyes, and Nat screams. Tony and Bruce are screaming with her, and a moment later, Hulk is tearing through the battlefield and ripping agents off of Steve.

The second his body is clear, Hulk lopes away fast on the heels of the rest of the fleeing agents. Nat and Tony are at Steve’s side. He’s bent double, his hands clutching his face, and Nat worries for a moment that whatever they sprayed was acid. When he moves his hand, though, she sees his skin is unblemished.

Tony pops off the hand of one gauntlet and brandishes his hand at Steve’s face. “Steve? Steve, buddy? We need to flush your eyes. I’m going to spray water on your face. Ok? Steve? Are you ready?”

Steve doesn’t seem to be processing, and Tony’s head twitches toward Natasha like he’s asking for her permission. She nods, and Tony turns back to Steve. The water sprays out from his cooling system onto Steve’s face, and he freezes for all of a second and then pulls away from them hard, his hands flailing. He clips Natasha, and pain shoots up her arm. Shit. Shit shit shit.

By the time she looks up again, Steve’s crouched against a spare bit of shattered concrete, looking out from between his fingers at them all. “T…Tony?” he says, but his voice sounds strange, syrupy and stoppered, like his lips and tongue aren’t working quite right.

“Yeah. Yeah, Cap. It’s me.” Tony flips up the faceplate, and Nat wants to yell at him. The battlefield is still hot, and he could be seriously injured, but Tony clearly doesn’t give a shit. He steps forward slowly, one inch at a time, his eyes darting constantly to Nat. He saw her get hit. He knows the danger already.

“Can’t…can’t…” Steve takes one step forward, staggers, arms flailing, and tips to the side. He lands hard on his elbow, and Nat winces. Steve grunts and then scrambles across the ground, listing first right and then left. He passes close enough to Nat that she can see his pupils are dilated horribly wide in his already wide eyes.

Just then Hulk comes lumbering back, a goon dangling by his ankle from one green fist. “Brought bad man,” Hulk grunts, and throws down his prize. The AIM goon is shaking, but he’s still got the spray canister clutched to his chest.

Tony smiles like a shark, his teeth wicked in his sweaty face. “Good job, Hulk.” He clunks forward in the armor, snaps the canister away from the guy and says, “I’ll be taking this. Hulk?”

“Hrm.”

“Do what you do best.”

Hulk’s grin is fierce, and he turns on the AIM soldier. “Smash,” he grunts, and the AIM soldier _runs_. Nat grits her teeth at the waste. They could’ve questioned him, gotten him to tell them about the chemicals, but at the same time, she can’t blame Tony for wanting a little revenge.

Steve is recovering from his fall, but he’s still trying to scrabble farther and farther away. “Steve? Steve?” Nat says, crouching as low as she can while still remaining mobile. “Look at me, Steve.”

He does, shaking and weaving. He can only focus on her a moment before he slips entirely, hitting his side hard as he goes down. “Nat?” he mumbles, and she’s seriously worried. Steve’s body can work through normal drugs in seconds, but this stuff is just not letting go. It must’ve been specially engineered just for him.

“Yeah, Steve. It’s me. We’ve gotta get you home. Would it be alright if I got closer?”

“Nnn…no…no I…” He’s panicking and behind her, Natasha can feel Tony starting to panic too.

“Tony,” she hisses, and she hears a clank and a thunk from Tony's armor. “Take that canister back to the tower and start the analysis. The quicker we know what they dosed him with, the quicker we can get an antidote. Thor.” She waits for the crackle of his com. “I need you down here stat. We’ve got a situation.”

“Widow?” Clint says, and she can hear the worry he tries his damndest to hide.

“I need you up high, Hawkeye. Keep eyes on us and make sure there aren’t any last AIM surprises headed our way.”

“Roger,” he says, tight-voiced. He’ll be angry with her later. It doesn’t matter.

Thor lands with a thud that shakes the cement. “What do you need of me, Widow?”

“We need to get Steve off the battlefield, but to do that, I need you to restrain him. Can you do that and fly at the same time?”

“Aye, though it will not be an enjoyable journey for either of us.”

“Do it. Get him back to the tower, and get him to one of the med bays. Have Jarvis turn down the lights, and restrain him if you need to. The big ones.”

Thor nods tightly and takes a step toward Steve. “Steven?” he hazards, and Steve jerks and rolls, his every movement off in a way that makes Natasha wish she’d handled that goon personally. “Forgive me, Captain.” Thor darts in like lightning and gets Steve’s arms restrained in a bear hug. Steve begins kicking wildly, but with his lack of coordination, he’s not landing any serious blows. Thor’s arm muscles bulge, and his frown becomes thunderous. “You have been holding back in sparring, Stephen,” he grunts, flexing as Steve fights against his hold. “Come. Let us make haste.”

He shoots into the sky, though Natasha’s not quite sure how, given Mjolnir’s hanging at his belt. She swallows hard once and resists the urge to cradle her arm to her chest. It’s throbbing horribly and she fears the worst. Turning, she discovers Tony still there, armored fingers clutching at the spray canister. He looks lost, almost hurt. Natasha can’t even remember him looking like that during her stint undercover.

“Tony,” she barks, and he jumps a little. “I need you to go back to the tower. Right now. Steve needs you.”

“He…he…”

“He needs you.” Natasha steps deep into Tony’s personal space and stares him down. “Go.”

As if shaken from a dream, Tony nods dazedly at her and the face plate clunks down. He takes a few steps back and then blasts off, his one free hand clutching the canister like his life depends on it. Like Steve’s life depends on it. Natasha watches him for a moment and then looks around the battlefield.

“Hawkeye, report.”

“No hostiles. No surprises. AIM cleared out pretty fast after they did whatever they did to Cap.”

For just a moment, Natasha wants to sigh, but now’s not the time. Not yet. “Clear your roost. Bring the Quinjet around. Where’s Hulk?”

“De-Hulked. He left the AIM goon tied up with a girder three blocks over. I already radioed for pickup. Bruce is making his way back to you. ETA for him, three minutes, for me, seven.”

Nat sighs and for the barest moment allows her head to hang.  Then she breathes deeply and radios in to SHIELD to start giving her report. She still has a job to do.

* * *

When they finally land back at the tower, the Quinjet landing pad is eerily empty. Only JARVIS’ voice echoes around them, a clipped “Welcome home, Avengers,” that somehow belies worry. Nat disembarks first, Clint at her shoulder, Bruce trailing them looking exhausted. “Tony?”

“In Dr. Banner’s laboratory running chemical analysis.”

“Steve?”

“In Medical Bay 3. Thor is currently standing guard. Captain Rogers’ condition is quite serious, but I cannot give a full report. He is moving too rapidly to permit scans or monitors of any kind.”

“Thor didn’t restrain him?”

“He attempted to. The bed in the bay will require repairs.”

Nat resists the urge to rub her forehead. Not the time. Never the time. “Bruce, I know you’re tired, but we’re going to need your expertise. Can you go start working with Tony?”

“On it,” he says, and shuffles past them, his recovery blanket clutched close around his shoulders. Clint remains at her shoulder, not touching her, but his presence is still a solid sense of comradery. She wants to lean back against him for a moment, but that’s not something for the daylight hours. It’s barely something for the dark of night when memories of wolves and razor sharp ice haunt her.

“With me,” she orders, and she and Clint head to medical. They find Thor standing stoically outside Med Bay 3, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed.

“How is he?”

“He is in the corner. He ripped down a curtain and stole a good deal of the bedding. I believe he is trying to hide himself.”

“What did he do when you first got him in there?”

“He ripped himself from the bed. He seems unable to stand easily, but he was able enough to drive me away.” Thor turns and Natasha sees for the first time that his cheekbone is bright red, rapidly swelling and shading toward purple. “I had not realized,” Thor says softly, “how very strong he is. He does not show us this.”

Natasha looks back into the room, and now that she knows what she’s looking for, she sees the mound of crumpled bed linens in the corner. “JARVIS, have you got a better read now?”

“Captain Rogers’ pulse and respiration are highly elevated, as is his blood pressure. Camera footage demonstrates dilated pupil response and bodily shaking. Captain Rogers’ equilibrium also appears to be affected. He is having difficulty standing upright and demonstrating fine motor function.”

“If you had to guess JARVIS…”

“Captain Rogers appears, for all intents and purposes, to be in the worst throes of fight-or-flight response with additional fine motor impairment. A survey of common drugs suggests that he may have been dosed with some sort of amplified amphetamine or similar stimulant.”

“Ok,” Nat says quietly. “Thank you, JARVIS.” She stares into the room and thinks, tries to approach Steve the way she might approach a mark. It makes her sick. She tries, she tries so hard not to think of her colleagues that way anymore. Most days, she succeeds.

After a moment, she shakes herself off and nods. “Ok. I’m going in.”

“Nat, are you sure…” She shoots a look over her shoulder at Clint, her eyes sharp and hard. “At least splint your arm first,” Clint finally says; his body languages doesn’t shift, doesn’t back down, and Nat resists the urge to sigh.

“Give me your arrows.”

Clint slides two shafts from his quiver and snaps off the heads. He also removes a length of emergency medical tape from his belt pouches, and then splints her arm without a word. Now that her adrenaline is wearing off, the throbbing ache of a broken bone has gotten worse. She ignores it. She’s had worse.

“JARVIS, take the lights in there to 30%.”

“Natalia,” Thor says softly, his eyes still on the mound of blankets where Steve has hidden, “are you sure this is wise?”

“Do you have a better idea?” she asks, the closest she’s come to snapping at someone in ages. Her voice is one long stiletto through the air, and she watches the way it pierces Thor, regrets it immediately, but she can’t take it back. Not now.

“As you say,” Thor says soft, averting his eyes.

Nat squares her shoulders and gently opens the door to Med Bay 3. Once she’s inside, she flips the lock, ignoring the way Clint’s jaw clenches at that. Inside, she can hear Steve, and she has to take a deep breath to steady herself. He’s breathing raggedly, his throat whistling in the still air of the bay, and she can hear strange little noises, rustles and whimpers.

“Steve? Steve, can you hear me?”

From the mound of blankets, one whimper rings out louder and a moment later he speaks. “N, N, Nat?” He still sounds thick and shaky, almost drunken. The rustling grows louder, and Nat instinctively holds out her hands, palms out, tries to make her posture loose and easy.

“Yeah, Steve. It’s me.” More rustling and then an expected crash as one of Steve’s blankets sends a bottle of hand soap tumbling from the sink next to where he’s hiding. Several things happen all at once. Nat drops to her knees, the blankets rend apart with a ripping sound like Velcro, and Steve scrabbles past her, stumbling and weaving as he clings to the wall, trying to get away.

She wants to spit and swear and punch something, but she does none of those things. She remains perfectly still as Steve scrambles around her, circling the room several times, stumbling over the beds, sending things crashing to the floor, tearing fabric and denting metal. The Med Bay, which had already been messy from Steve’s earlier escape, now resembles something from a disaster movie. He trips and goes down hard, chin cracking on cold tiles. The groan he gives makes Nat wince in sympathy, and she hopes he hasn’t broken anything.

“Steve.”

He twitches, shakes, tries to get up again, though the wind is still out of him.

“Steve, listen to my voice. Listen to me. You’re with friends. I know you can do this.”

He’s to her left and just slightly behind her, she would guess about seven feet away from the sounds. She wants to turn to look at him, but she suspects that will set him off again. Instead, she starts speaking again, low and steady, broken arm cradled to her stomach, free arm supporting her crouch.

“Steve, you’re doing really good. I know it hurts. I know it’s scary, but I know you can get through it. I just need you to listen to me. I know you can listen to me. I’m going to breathe. I think you can breathe with me. I think that’ll help. Let’s go, Steve. Big breath in. Nice big breath. Gonna take it all in for five counts. That’s nice. And then I’m gonna breathe back out. Five counts out. And then I’m gonna breathe in again.”

She counts through how many breaths she doesn’t even know, and eventually ,she gathers up the courage to ever so slowly swivel on her toes until she can see more of Steve. He’s still laid out flat on the floor, though he’s pressed himself back to shelter against the corner of an overturned bed. His palms are flat on the floor, and his toes are pressed to the ground like he might just push himself into a run at any moment.

“You’re doing so good, Steve. Tell me what you need from me, Steve. Let’s get this worked out.”

“Too…” he shakes and makes an abortive move to rise “…too much. Can’t…can’t…can’t…”

“That’s ok, Steve. You’re doing really good. I bet a blanket would help. Tell me if you’d like me to get you a blanket.”

“Yes,” he hisses, and gets his knees under himself. His eyes are turned on her now, but he still seems to be having trouble focusing. She can see how his pupils are darting here and there, catching on every little thing.

“Ok, Steve. I’m going to get you a blanket. I’m going to move now to get you a blanket. You just stay there for me. Let’s breathe some more. Nice big breath in.” He never looks away from her, though his eyes are constantly moving and every sound seems to make him jitter. One of his hands clenches into a fist. Natasha is forcefully reminded of wolves, of bears, of creatures more vicious than either. Taking a steadying breath, she begins crouch-walking toward Steve’s torn blankets. She stays as low as she dares, creeping out one leg at a time, balancing carefully on toes and fingers. It feels like an eternity simply to cross to the blanket nest and take up one of the rough hospital blankets. She sighs with relief when she manages to pull it from the pile with minimal noise. Even better, it’s mostly intact. Carefully she balls it beneath her splinted arm and swivels back to Steve. He’s upright now, swaying dangerously back and forth in a crouch on his toes. Just as she prepares to work her way back to him, her com crackles to life in her ear.

“Nat,” Tony says, breathless, “We’re working on something to mitigate effects, but if you can, get him to drink water. As much as he’ll accept. It should help dilute the drugs and balance out his system.”

“Ok,” Nat says aloud, both for Tony and Steve. “I’m going to come toward you now, Steve. You just let me know if I’m too close. I’ll stop. Let’s breathe some more, Steve.” She starts counting and crawling, approaching Steve as slowly and smoothly as she knows how. His eyes flicker over her and she thinks he looks a little more lucid, but maybe it’s just wishful thinking.

“Stop,” he barks, when she’s three feet from him. She freezes and watches his nostrils flare, waits for him to start running again. Instead, he extends his hand expectantly, his entire arm shaking. Natasha passes him the blanket one-handed and waits while he wraps himself completely until only his nose and eyes are visible. It would be ridiculous if she wasn’t so frightened for him.

“That’s good, Steve. Really, really good. I’m going to get some water now. Let’s keep breathing.”

Cocooned, Steve seems more at ease. He’s not, as far as she can tell, perched on his toes anymore, and his breathing is quieter. Maybe his system will work the drug out after all. Nat’s never been one for optimism, but the other Avengers are having a bad influence on her. She crawl-crouches her way to the tiny mini-fridge next to the sink, thankfully still upright. “I’m going to open the door now, Steve. It’s going to make a noise. Be ready for the noise.” The sucking sound of the magnetized rubber seal is as loud as a bullet in the quiet room, and she hears a rustle-thump from Steve, but he doesn’t take off running again. “Good job. You really handled that well. Now I’m going to get some water and close the door. There’s going to be more noise. Be ready for the noise.” Nat gathers four bottles to her stomach, gritting her teeth as her arm protests the weight of the bottles. Then she works her way back to Steve, sweat breaking out on her brow, the lines of her face growing tighter and tighter.

“I have water, Steve. Let me know if you’d like water.”

“Yes,” he says without hesitation, so Nat sets down her other bottles and shows him one.

“I’m going to open this, ok? I’m going to crack the seal and hand it to you.” Carefully, she wedges the bottle between her thighs and cracks the cheap plastic cap. Steve extends his hand again, fingers poking out beneath the edge of the blanket. She passes him the bottle and he awkwardly maneuvers it to his lips. “It’s cold,” she thinks to warn, just in case the temperature shift shocks him. He tips the bottle back, but his shaking sends a lot of it onto the blanket instead into his mouth. He grunts and whimpers, but he keeps drinking, so Nat settles back on her heels to wait. When he next looks at her, his eyes are decidedly more focused.

“You’re doing really good,” she reiterates. Her legs are starting to get tired, but she’s wary of sitting down. If Steve panics again, she won’t be able to move fast enough to protect herself.

“You’re hurt,” he returns, and she fights the urge to look up sharply, to assess.

“It’s nothing.”

“I did it, didn’t I?” His speech is smoother now, closer to the way he normally sounds. There’s something sad behind his eyes, something he doesn’t normally let her see.

“It was an accident. Accidents happen. I don’t blame you, especially when I know you’re having a hard time right now.”

“I’m supposed to take care of you.”

“And you do. We take care of each other. That’s what a team is for.”

Steve looks at her with his wounded blue eyes, and something inside of her twists. She had thought…she hadn’t realized he was still hurting so badly. She thought his adjustment to the future, to them, was going better. But here he is shaking and panicking and telling her things he’d normally never say in his right mind.

“Tell me what you need, Steve,” she whispers, and he ducks deeper into his blanket so that she can’t see his eyes anymore. God. He’s not going to say anything and she’s fucked it up.

“Could you…c, c, could you….hug?”

Nat freezes, blinking down at her toes, and glances up. He’s not looking at her, and his blanket is shaking violently. Still. He said it. “I’m going to move closer to you,” she quietly tells him, and crawls forward inch by painful inch on her toes. Once she’s close enough, she swivels carefully and tells him she’s going to sit down. From the depths of his blanket, he nods, and she watches as the shakes get worse. Still, she carefully sinks down onto her tail bone, her knees still drawn up to her chest, her bad arm crushed between her stomach and thighs. It hurts like a bitch, but it doesn’t matter.

“I’m going to put my arm around you now, ok?”

She waits for some acknowledgement, but Steve doesn’t say anything or nod. After a moment, she tentatively reaches out and drapes an arm across his shivering shoulders. His skin jumps beneath her touch, and for a moment he makes a sound like a wounded animal. His balance goes wonky and he tips into her thigh.

“That’s ok, Steve,” she tells him, staring up at the ceiling. There’s something tight in her throat. She won’t think about it. She won’t. “You’re doing such a good job, Steve. You can use my lap as a pillow if you’d like.”

He is a tiny series of tremors beneath her hand, but after a moment, he puts his weight more purposefully against her, bowing over her thighs as she shifts into a cross-legged position. She can feel his fluttering breath against the crease between her hip and thigh—it’s too fast, too hot.

“Let’s breathe some more, Steve. Can you breathe with me?” She starts her steady count, breathing with him, feeling the way his chest jumps and shakes with each inhale and exhale. But he does slow, everything about him does gradually shift down a gear.

“Nat,” Tony whispers in her ear. She doesn’t acknowledge him, too afraid to break the count, but she’s pretty sure he’ll keep going. “We’ve got an antidote. It’s a spray. Do you think he’ll…”

“Keep breathing. That’s right, Steve,” she breathes, eyes still on the ceiling tiles. “You’re doing your best, and this is gonna be over soon.”

“Be right down,” Tony says and the com goes dead again.

“Nat?” Steve says. God, he sounds like a child. Natasha does not know what to do with children. She had no childhood to speak of. The concept of vulnerability is one that was beaten out of her almost before she could speak. For a moment, she feels phantom pain in her toes.

“Yeah, Steve.”

“Water?”

“Sure thing, Steve.” She snags another bottle and then helps him upright, bracing his weaving body against her shoulder, while she tells him she’s going to crack the cap. “Tell me if you want me to help you with the bottle.”

“P, please.”

“I’m going to pull back the blanket.”

His trembling worsens, but the blanket shifts with a nod. Carefully she lifts a ragged edge until she can see his eyes, his flaring nose, his clenched jaw. “You ready?” He nods again, and for a moment his pupils jitter sideways. Carefully, she maneuvers her left hand until its awkward folded in on itself and presses the bottle to his lips. He drinks half the bottle in one gulp and then turns his head away, water dribbling down his neck into his uniform.

“S, sorry,” he whispers, and Nat’s heart aches. How did she get here? She wasn’t supposed to let anyone in anymore. Bad enough that Clint was under her skin, but now Steve, too. Tony, Bruce, even Thor. How had they all wormed through the ice?

“Don’t be sorry,” she tells him, and then impulsively leans forward and kisses his cheek. “You’re doing a good job. Tony’s coming down.” Steve glances at her, and his eyes clench shut.

“Don’t, don’t want him…t, to see me…like this.”

“He’s bringing medicine. It’s ok, Steve. He’s not gonna think worse of you.”

Steve makes a tiny wounded noise in the back of his throat and ducks beneath the blanket again. Nat carefully manipulates the bottle up to her own lips and drinks. Once she’s had a little, it hits her how thirsty she is, how tired, how sore. That strange tight feeling in her throat gets worse, and she blinks up at the ceiling again; she means to start writing her mission debrief in her head, but she just ends up playing that horrible moment on the battlefield over and over again. The agents swarming Steve, the gas in his face, getting there too late. It’s only the click of the lock that brings her out of it.

In her lap, Steve tenses, and his shaking intensifies. “It’s ok, Steve,” Nat murmurs. “It’s Tony. He’s bringing the medicine. He’s going to come over here now, ok?”

“No.”

Nat can hear the moment Tony’s footsteps freeze. “No?”

“You,” Steve whispers. “Not him. You.”

“Ok.” She raises her voice a little. “Tony, can you roll the canister to me?”

She can see his shadow thrown into relief by the light from the hallway. He crouches down and a moment later, the sound metal rolling across linoleum hits her. The canister appears and hits her thigh a moment later. It’s a nasal applicator. Easier said than done.

“Steve,” she murmurs, eyes on Tony’s shadow where it’s still hovering, unmoving. “You’ve done such a good job. You’re doing so good. I’m going to give you the medicine, but to do that, I need to see your face and touch your nose. Is it ok if I do that?”

Steve’s shaking is almost uncontrollable, but at last he raises his face to her. “As fast as I can, Steve, I promise.” He catches her eyes and holds them, the steadiest his gaze has been since she first entered the room. “Here we go,” she murmurs, and lifts the spray can to his face. “One loud noise,” she warns, and then depresses the applicator. Medicine sprays into Steve’s nose, and he reels back, arms flailing wide as he skitters away from her on his rear. But a moment later, his eyelids grow heavy and then he slowly slumps to the side, going motionless and breathing deeply. One heavy moment passes before Tony stands and approaches.

“He’ll be out for a while,” he says, eyes never leaving Steve.

“Yeah,” Natasha murmurs. Then she stands with a grunt. She would’ve shuffled right past Tony without a word if he hadn’t caught her arm.

“Hey,” he says, and waits until she looks at him before continuing, “thank you. For taking care of him. I…I really appreciate it.”

“He needs taking care of,” she murmurs, and she gets the sense that Tony catches her meaning, that he understands what she’s trying to tell him under the gruffness. She doesn’t expect romance will fix Steve’s broken heart, but maybe it’ll drain the infection that’s eating at him enough that his heart can scar over, can start healing.

Tony lets her go and shuffles further into the room, giving orders to JARVIS as he goes. A moment later, the lights come up, and Natasha has to blink against the brightness. She makes her way out past Clint, Thor, and Bruce where they are all waiting like sentries. “Tony’s going to need you,” she informs them and then turns down the hall. She feels more than sees Clint peel away to follow her, but she doesn’t protest.

It’s not until she reaches the safety of her private quarters that she allows her shoulders to relax a little, allows the pain to cross her face. Clint, still silent, ducks under her arm without a word and takes some of her weight, steering her to her bedroom. She barely remembers the rest—him helping her out of her armor, properly binding her arm and ordering a 3D print cast from JARVIS, tucking her into bed. There’s no room past her exhaustion. She sleeps and dreams of dark, cold forests and being alone.

* * *

It’s not until a week after the incident that Steve manages to get her alone, catching her while she practices yoga early in the morning. Her range of poses is limited by her broken arm, and it’s put her in a foul mood. The last thing she wants is to talk about what happened while he was drugged. “Nat—“

“It was nothing.”

He blinks at her for a moment before pressing a hand to the back of his head. “It wasn’t nothing. I…I was dangerous. And you still—“

“It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothing. It was brave and…and you were kind. I, I just wanted to say thank you.”

“You would’ve done the same for me.” She can’t quite look him in the face, so she stares pointedly at the top of his left ear.

“Nat,” he says again, forcefully this time, and finally, she looks at his face. It’s like looking in a mirror in some ways—she can see the mask he wears every day, the one he shows the Avengers. But beneath that, she can see something broken and sick and maybe now, ever so slowly, being drained. “Thank you.” Something about the way he says it fixes her to the spot, and a moment later, he steps into her space and puts his arms around her. Being hugged by Steve Rogers is a little like being hugged by a bear, and Nat couldn’t escape even if she wanted to. Her face against his warm chest, she feels that horrible tight ball of something in her throat again.

Sometime later, when she can feel how wet his shirt has become, he says, “Like you said. We’re a team. We take care of each other. So thank you for taking care of me.”

She doesn’t sniffle into his chest, but only by sheer force of will. He backs away and looks down at her, a weak smile lifting one corner of his mouth. “Coffee?”

“Has Tony had his morning gallon yet?”

“Last I checked he wasn’t awake.

“Rogers, you dog,” Nat says, and she punches him in the bicep to let him know they are done with emotions for today. He grins sheepishly at her, turning a lovely shade of red, but doesn’t quite get the message about emotions, because he slings his arm over her shoulders and drags her bodily from the gym. She allows him the familiar touch, because as long as they’re teasing each other, she can handle a little kindness.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says mischievously as they go.

“Sure. And that’s not a hickey on your neck there.”

His free hand slaps to his neck where there’s no mark at all, and he blushes more deeply. “I told him not to—“

“You’re so gullible, Rogers.”

Their good-natured teasing fills the elevator, and the knot of nerves in Nat’s throat gradually dissipates. She promised herself she wouldn’t let these people under her skin, but sometimes promises are made to be broken.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/post/157763341091/for-musicalluna-whose-birthday-is-today-i-dont).


End file.
